Be­ing a Jan­uary baby is the pits, and next year will be even worse...

The Argus - - LIFESTYLE -

I’M think­ing of start­ing up a lit­tle group for all the peo­ple who have a birth­day in the month of Jan­uary.

We could throw soirees, drink nice wine and bitch about the mis­for­tune of be­ing born into the crap­pi­est month of the year.

For those of you born in the glo­ri­ous sum­mer months, let me tell you be­ing a Jan­uary baby is the pits. Half the time peo­ple for­get your birth­day al­to­gether and when they do re­mem­ber they usu­ally hand you a present (the dregs of the sales) wrapped in leftover Christ­mas pa­per.

I al­ways get into a huff on my birth­day be­cause I an­tic­i­pate in ad­vance how rub­bish it’s go­ing to be.

This year wasn’t that bad to be fair. I got a nice present but spent most of the day on my own as Him­self was in work and the kids were out with friends. When they did re­turn home, they had for­got­ten to get me a cake so I threw a bit of a hissy fit and drank an en­tire bot­tle of cheap prosecco on my own.

‘I don’t un­der­stand why you get into such a state over your birth­day,’ says Him­self. Well that’s easy for him to say. He was born in May. Ev­ery­body wants to cel­e­brate in May. He also has a won­der­ful wife who throws lav­ish par­ties for him to mark all his big birth­days.

Next year is a sig­nif­i­cant one for both of us. I won’t tell you how old I will be be­cause I can’t bring my­self to say it out loud. I’ve al­ready booked the venue for his, hired the DJ and sorted the cater­ers.

Sud­denly he sug­gests we have a joint birth­day party.

‘I’m not feckin say­ing I’m... (in­sert cer­tain age) six months be­fore I ac­tu­ally am. No way!’ I tell him. Even the thought of get­ting loads of presents isn’t enough to make me do that.

‘Well we’ll have one for you in Jan­uary then!’ he an­nounces. ‘Will WE? Does that mean you’re go­ing to or­gan­ise it?’ I ask. He nods en­thu­si­as­ti­cally. ‘Yeah sure there’s noth­ing to it – a few bal­loons, a bit of mu­sic, cock­tail sausages and plenty of drink.’

Sounds heav­enly! Thank God he doesn’t fancy a ca­reer in event management. ‘No!’ I am em­phatic. ‘No one wants to go to a party on Jan­uary 4th, Ev­ery­one will be on the dry. It will be aw­ful!’ My voice is reach­ing fever pitch at this stage.

‘Ah sure we’ll see!’ he smirks, wink­ing at me. Part of me is filled with fear that he’ll try and or­gan­ise a sur­prise one. But re­al­is­ti­cally I know that won’t hap­pen be­cause it’s too much like hard work.

But on the off chance you get an in­vite next De­cem­ber to at­tend a party be­ing thrown for me. DO NOT AT­TEND.

I will be hid­ing un­der a du­vet some­where drink­ing cheap prosecco!

NEXT YEAR IS A SIG­NIF­I­CANT ONE FOR BOTH OF US. I WON’T TELL YOU HOWOLD I WILL BE BE­CAUSE I CAN’T BRING MY­SELF TO SAY IT OUT LOUD

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